


THE DAUGHTER OF OUTLAWS

by BibiannaOddey1850



Series: BLACK DAWN: The Life of Aurora Van der Linde [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bandits & Outlaws, Character(s) of Color, Childhood, Coming of Age, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Unrequited Crush, Victorian, Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:43:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BibiannaOddey1850/pseuds/BibiannaOddey1850
Summary: 1907Even to this day I still think of him.Eight years have passed, and he continues to haunt my dreams. Often at night, I find myself recalling memories of happier times, when the world allowed us to breathe and enjoy life. For so long, I have done what I can to soften the pain of his passing. But all I've accomplished is re-opening old wounds and admitting shame into my life.Arthur Morgan may have claimed to be a bad man when he was still amongst us; however, believe me or not, he was one of the most kindhearted people I knew. Beneath that vicious exterior he so proudly displayed was a broken person, left with the jagged pieces of his heart to keep him animated until the end.When the news of his death reached me, I could not accept the reality that he was no more. And I began to think that I would not be able to live without him.Since then, retribution has kept me alive, fueling my mind with grand ideas of relentless killing. Although, I am not sure how long I could remain hunting for that man, who has done nothing but cause pain onto others.But if one day I succeed in finding him, I will put a special bullet in his heart, and I will watch him grovel at my feet.





	1. One

_November 26th, 1891_

They had been enjoying the peacefulness of the hidden shrubbery for most of the morning, when the cold winter wind suddenly drew in somber clouds fraught with thunder and rain. The change in weather drove the residents of the transitory camp to seek credible shelter; belongings were quickly moved underneath the canopies of tents, while others rushed to attach additional canvas sheets to shield them from the gale.

Aurora drew the flaps of the tent aside to peer at the altered landscape. Afar, she could see a pale blanket of mist sweeping over the hills; the wind howled scarily as it blew over them. She saw Mr. Pearson use a patched-up sheet to protect their supplies from the pitiless rain; over by the wagons, Uncle was rolling about in the mud like a pig. Nearby, she could see Reverend Swanson nursing a bottle of whiskey as he prayed to God for the tempest to pass. For a while, Aurora was content. But, all too soon, her contentment came to an end.

"Miss Aurora Van der Linde!" cried Susan Grimshaw. The girl promptly turned around to face the approaching woman. "What're you doing standin' over there? You're gonna catch somethin' awful if you expose yourself like that!"

"I was...I was watchin' the rain, Miss Grimshaw," Aurora answered, with awkward modesty.

"Huh. Well, this damn weather ain't gonna change soon," she then beckoned her to follow. "C'mon, might as well be teachin' you how to mend clothes, so that one day you'll be able to fix your daddy's ruined clothing by yourself." And then, seated on a chair, she began to take out a tin container from one of the smaller cabinets, which contained the sewing equipment.

Susan Grimshaw was a fierce woman. At merely two and thirty years old, she no longer had the stunning glow of youth to her appearance; a decade of strain and rigor had chipped away what was possibly a beauty worth in gold. With her face locked into a perpetual scowl, she gave off an atmosphere of authority to her fellows, and was most austere when it came to chores and other common labor.

Susan had not much affection for the lackadaisical and idle, and antagonized those who could not follow orders. She may have bullied and punished the rest of the girls two or three times in the week, to the degree that they began whisperings terrible things behind her back, but Aurora knew her family couldn't afford to be neglectful. There were moments when she was shaken by the terror Miss Grimshaw inspired, and she understood it was best not to vex her into a bad mood.

Generally obedient to the older woman, Aurora came up to her chair and noted her hands: she spent some minutes preparing the needle and thread, before taking out a piece of cloth for her to practice on later. While dreading the unavoidable lesson, Aurora mused on the cosmetics she used to paint her face. One day, her father told her, she will wear some of it in order to impress her associates, or a gentleman she preferred. She began to speculate that Miss Grimshaw noticed her lack of participation; for, without warning, she clouted her brow.

"Are you even listenin', Miss Van der Linde?" she asked, "get your head out of those clouds and pay attention!"

Accustomed to her rough treatment, Aurora never knew how to reply to them. She nodded her head, and clasped her hands together behind her back.

"What were you thinkin' of anyway?"

"I was thinking about the colors you wear on your face. Papa said I'll put them on someday, when I'm older, and if ever I want a gentleman's approval."

"Yeah, well, that's a discussion set for another time, and we won't touch that 'til you've become a certified lady, ya hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Aurora did, in fact, paid much attention to her studies; Susan had assigned her to create an image out of yellow thread, and she was able to make a crude interpretation of a sunflower. As their needlepoint progressed to varying forms of stitches, they hardly noticed the dying breaths of the storm outside. It took her several tries, but eventually Susan deemed her work satisfying enough for her consideration.

"Maybe when the climate is fine and dandy tomorrow, I'll teach you how to do the laundry," said Susan. She put away the supplies, and promptly left to resume activities in the camp, much to the indignation of some residents.

Aurora glanced down at her work: while it was certainly not the best, she knew that practicing further will assist in honing her skills. She pocketed the piece of cloth, and upon hearing the racket of action outside, she hurried to join them. The ground was soft beneath her feet; but she had done enough graceless stumbles to know which path she should take to avoid a repeat performance (Susan warranted that if she ever messed up her dress again, she will make her run around in her delicates).

The ten-year-old paused by the wagons to hear Miss Grimshaw scolding Uncle for being so incompetent of keeping himself tidy. The said man simply laughed at her tongue-lashing, before taking another swig of his whiskey. Moving on to the others, she saw the girls hustling around their area, carrying baskets of laundry and doing other menial housework, while the subject of degeneracy was being discussed between Mary-Beth and Tilly.

Aurora remembered how each of them were introduced to the group: they were anxious for the first few days; their tales of misery and oppression varied a lot, and she had trouble recalling which story belonged to whom, which is why she kept a little journal to line up their names with their specific accounts. Her father laughed when he discovered her ledger, calling her a clerk of sorts. However, thereafter, he might have uncovered an idea and had purchased his own books, and began to catalogue all of their resources and cost of living.

"Well hello there, Miss Van der Linde," greeted Mary-Beth Gaskill. "I'm sorry if I can't play with you as of the moment. Miss Grimshaw's made sure my mind doesn't wander too far." Her gaze shifted to the assortment of shirts and trousers beside her.

"That's fine, Miss Gaskill," replied Aurora. "But will you still read me a story tonight?"

"Of course, sweetheart. What would you like me to read?"

"It's called Pamela by Samuel Richardson. Uncle Hosea gave it to me the other night."

"Oh," started Mary-Beth. "Isn't that a bit inappropriate for little girls like you?"

Aurora wanted to tell her that nothing has ever been inappropriate for her; from their living conditions to the way her father earned his money. She could only shake her head.

"Alright, I'll see you around bedtime then, Miss Van der Linde."

"If Susan asks for me, tell her I went into the woods to poke sleeping bears."

Without waiting for Mary-Beth's remark, she ran off; but in truth, Aurora went looking for Arthur.


	2. Two

The forest was alive with the sound of croaking frogs and chirping crickets. A gentle wind flowed into the trees, shaking off rainwater in its wake: a few droplets fell on Aurora as she walked down the path. Wildflowers of unknown swayed to the winter chill; passages from Bewick's _History of British Birds_ come to mind—"the vast sweep of the Arctic Zone, and those forlorn regions of dreary space."

Images of childish illusion began to come into being in Aurora's mind. She saw churchyards bathed in eerie moonlight; plowed fields with crows flying in a clear sky; wolf packs haunting the peaks of an ominous mountain: they were mysterious to her young awareness, and yet they remained profoundly interesting as the tales Uncle sometimes narrated around the campfire.

Just then, a beat of wings drifted over her head, and she quickly looked up to see a beautiful barn owl perched on the desolate branches of an ash tree. It swelled its chest, as if to take a deep breath, and the noise it made echoed throughout the woods. Aurora gawked at the creature in fascination; she rarely had the chance to be near wildlife, for her family was quite protective of her well-being.

Owl feathers, she recalled. Uncle Hosea needed them for a hat he had appointed to a trapper. Without any more urging, she moved towards the bird, not knowing how to seize it for its marvelous plumage. She stood at the base of the tree now, craning her neck back to fully inspect the owl: perhaps the feathers on its wings should be sufficient? However, the barn owl must have known her intentions; for it suddenly stretched its wings, and took flight. Aurora let out a cry of disappointment, and began to take chase.

The large bird seemed to be weaving through the trees, like a ghost of the winter solstice. She followed; hardly mindful of her surroundings, the girl stumbled on overgrown roots and unlevel ground. Before long, the owl glided to the right; the gentle beat of its wings was near silent when it settled onto a hickory tree. It stared on, as if commanding her to come further. However, Aurora could not distinguish the situation she had placed herself in: she hastened her sprint, eager to close the distance between her and the feathered creature.

All too suddenly, the ground vanished beneath her feet, and she plummeted into a ravine.

The world was spinning in her vision; a flurry of green that caused her to become nauseated. She prepared for the collison, but the force of the fall was too great: she felt something come apart inside her. Aurora tumbled down the vertical slope; her heart raced with pure panic. By the time she finally came to a stop at the bottom, the soreness of her injuries followed, and she released a bawl that rang in the small chasm.

It hurt to move; her entire left arm had a strange burning sensation. The owl hooted, beating its wings like a triumphant gesture, and flew above her. Aurora could only perceive the trickster bird in her peripheral. And then, blackness slowly crept over her eyes. She soon lost consciousness afterward.

When Aurora stirred the next moment, she realized that daylight had receded, and she was shrouded in night. Unrestrained emotions spilled from her, provoking fresh tears and sobs. Aurora tried to budge herself from the ground; a terrible ache pulsated in her broken arm, and she fell back to the dirt, crying strongly than before. A loud scream from atop the hill cut her weeping short.

"Rory!" A full-toned voice shouted into the woods. "Rory, where are you?!"

Aurora propped herself up with one arm, and successfully sat upright. "Papa!" she screamed, frantically. The glow of a lantern could be seen overhead. People were yelling at each other; their voices grew louder as they neared her location.

"Rory!" Her father shouted once more.

"Papa! I'm down here!"

Ere long, someone was standing over the edge, raising a kerosene lamp above their head to see clearly. Aurora blinked to adjust her eyes to the sudden inpouring of light.

"I found her!" Arthur Morgan yelled to the others. "Somebody get a rope too!" He put down the lantern, and he plunged down the slope with careful movements.

"My God, this hill looks pretty steep!" came the voice of Hosea Matthews. He likewise peered over the edge, and looked down to see their missing child. "Aurora, are there any injuries we should know of?"

"My left arm. It hurts really bad. I think...I think I broke it," she whimpered.

"Well, don't worry anymore, Arthur's coming down to get you!"

"O-okay," she panted.

The minute Arthur was in reach, she got hold of his shirt sleeve with a grip that surprised the older man, and yet his eyes softened upon seeing the state she was in. He was tender with her; cradling her in his arms like a babe, he softly spoke solacing words onto her hair. Aurora bundled herself into his natural warmth, now wary of her broken arm.

"How'd you end up here, Rory?" Arthur asked, and added, "and you're running a fever."

Aurora sniffed. "I went looking for you; but then, I saw this pretty owl, and I wanted to pick its feathers for Uncle Hosea's hat. But, the owl flew away, and I chased it. Then, I fell."

"Hmm," she felt the slight rumble in his chest as he hummed. "Seems like a mean owl to me: hurtin' little girls and whatnot."

"Yeah, it is."

Above their heads, Hosea hollered at them, "We're going to toss down one end of the rope, and we'll help you two back up!"

"Okay!" Arthur shouted back.

"Come on guys!" cried John Marston. "This is Arthur Morgan we're pulling out of a hollow, we gotta double our efforts!"

"Shaddap Marston!"

With Aurora clinging to his side, Arthur grasped the thick cord, and, with the help of the men, climbed up the bluff. Comments on Arthur's weight was being passed about, earning a round of laughter from the rest of the gang. Soon enough, they made it to the top, and Aurora was immediately snatched away by her father. She cried out when he jostled her broken arm; he apologized and adjusted her position.

"Miss Grimshaw, we need something to mend her arm," said Dutch Van der Linde.

"Well, I'll have to take a look at that fracture before we do anythin'!" replied Susan, though her stare was seething at the moment, a flash of concern still crossed her face before returning to the usual frown.

"She's already running a fever, Dutch. We don't know how long she's been down there either," Arthur pointed out.

Miss Grimshaw scoffed "Stupid girl; always stirrin' up trouble when you least expect it!"

The camp was causing a racket by arguing over Aurora and her injuries: Hosea suggested going to an apothecary, whereas Dutch wanted her to be treated within the confines of their encampment. However, when Miss Grimshaw threw in her findings: that they lack supplies to even help with the fever, Dutch reluctantly went with Hosea's advice. They wrapped Aurora in a wool blanket, and took her to the nearest town, where they had to visit the doctor at his own home.

The man was reluctant at first, noticing the gun belts on both Hosea and Arthur, but once he saw the little girl, he quickly let them in and directed them into his office. There, Hosea placed the girl on the table; he removed the blanket from her person, but saw that the material was now dank with sweat. They argued some more about being present while she was being medicated, to which the doctor allowed.

"Here, drink this," uttered the doctor. Aurora nearly turned away from the foul smell, but Arthur pinched her nose, forcing her to breathe through her mouth. The doctor quickly poured in the medicine, and rubbed her throat, coaxing her to swallow it.

"Its a soothing tonic," he said to the men, "it'll be better if she doesn't move around much while I correct her arm. There's a bit of a dislocation on the shoulder, with a broken elbow and a wrist."

"But will she be able to use her arm again once it's fixed?" Hosea inquired.

"Oh, she will. Let's just consider the fact that she doesn't need to be amputated for this."

The medicine must have worked, for Aurora gradually lost consciousness again; the last thing she observed was the way Arthur gingerly held her little hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems that even though the owl is the symbol of wisdom due to being the animal of Athena, a majority of myths and superstitions say that it is an omen of death.


	3. Three

Aurora woke up to the jarring sound of Mr. Pearson's pots and pans alongside his cursing. She could smell the distinct aroma of fried sausages and eggs; it wafted through the air, engulfing her in its delectable embrace. Before long, she heard someone walk through the entrance of the tent: they placed the platter of food on a nearby table, and warily lifted her, helping her into a sitting posture. She rested her head against a pillow, and felt at ease.

In five minutes more, the mist of sleep had finally dissolved: Aurora knew quite well that she was in her own cot, and that she was within her father's pavilion. It was mid-morning; Tilly stood at the bed-foot with a wash basin in hand, while Hosea sat in a chair near her pillow, leaning over her.

"Good morning, little sunshine," he greeted her with humble cheerfulness. "The doctor said that the medicine is rather potent, so you'll feel a bit unsteady for a few days." Hosea then turned to Tilly; he charged her to be very careful around Aurora while she recovered.

Having given some further directions, and intimated that they should call the doctor again some time next week, Hosea departed. The little girl felt inexpressible grief at his leaving. While Tilly's companionship was fairly better than that of Susan Grimshaw or Karen Jones, she was a stranger to her, nevertheless.

"Do you feel like you need more sleep, Miss Van der Linde?" asked Tilly rather softly.

Aurora didn't want to give her an honest answer. Instead she countered with a question of her own: "Where's Papa?"

"Well, Dutch had gone out with Arthur and the Callander Boys. I'm guessing they need a big score for your medicine and whatnot." Then, she inquired, "would you like something to drink, or could you eat anything?"

Aurora glanced at the hot meal beside her, and then shook her head. "No, thank you, Tilly."

"Then I'll be nearby, in case if you want anything, alright?"

Spurred with curiosity, Aurora asked another question: "Tilly, will my arm ever be fixed?"

"I suppose so; Hosea did mention something about it a while ago, but let's hope for the best."

Tilly went outside, to the preferred area where the other girls were. Though they spoke in hushed whispers, Aurora could clearly hear them speak

"I'm a little scared for Miss Aurora, she doesn't look too well. I don't want to be alone with that poor child tonight; she might just die."

"Tilly!" Mary-Beth quietly exclaimed. "You can't go around throwing words like that!"

"And what if she ain't wrong, though?" said Karen, forcing her way into the conversation. "I've seen men die from injuries like that."

"Still, this is a child we're talkin' about, and both of you are just spouting poppycock out of your mouths!"

"What is everyone doin' standing around like cows in an auction?!" came the grating yell of Miss Grimshaw. "There are chores to be done, clothes to be washed, and now we have an invalid in our midst! All of you! Get to workin'!"

At last, they left in a rush.

* * *

Next day, by noon, Aurora was active and outfitted in a pale pink dress and black stockings. She sat, wrapped in a tartan shawl, by her father's side. Her left arm was dressed in a splint; she felt physically weak and broken down from the given medicine, and yet she was happy. Happy in a way that all children are to their parents. She watched on as he talked about the recent larceny he pulled alongside his trusty men.

Miss Grimshaw was away: she had gone into the lodging town of Finch with Mr. Pearson to purchase some supplies and other essentials for the camp. For once, Karen was mending clothes instead of drinking, and Mary-Beth, as she moved to and fro, putting away toys and arranging drawers, talked to Aurora about the books she had read from her childhood.

"Have you ever read the Arabian Nights?" Mary-Beth inquired.

"No; I've read the Iliad before. It was very interesting. But I remember losing it in Elk Creek while we were there. I think it was before we found you." Aurora explained. She recalled relentless tears and a bit of berating from Hosea and her father.

"Tell you what, when I've got time to spare tomorrow, why don't we head into town and buy some new books? I've been itching to read some of those famous Jane Austen romances for a long time."

Aurora nodded. She then rechanneled her attention to Copper, their red and white Pointer, and leaned down to pet him. The dog gazed up and raised his head; as if imploring for more, he bumped his cold nose into her hand, and wagged his tail playfully. Her father had gone off to meet Hosea by the lakeside, leaving her to play with the dog until they were both tired.

Soon enough, Arthur came in; he had been down to the city of Harriet, and brought back a medley of miniature cakes, all of which were neatly collected into a bright yellow box. Aurora could not contain her excitement; the precious vessel was now placed on her knee, and she was cordially invited to eat one of the delicate pastries.

"Well now, what do we have here?" Dutch announced as he sauntered into his domain.

"Arthur bought me some cakes, Papa," Aurora replied; her gaze immediately returned to the wonderful display before her. Even Copper wanted to take a look at the little desserts.

Dutch chuckled. "But Rory, you're still sick. You can't be eatin' stuff like that," he said, observing the way her face gradually shifted into that of outrage. "Why don't we give that to Miss Grimshaw or Uncle instead?"

Fortunately, Arthur was quick to interrupt his horseplay. "Come on, lay off of her, Dutch. She's already been through enough; we can't let her go into a fit either."

His boss and father figure raised his hands in mock surrender. "I was just kiddin'!" he said, "However, she can only have one cake each day, or else she's gonna have a nasty bellyache."

"Okay, Papa, I understand." Aurora chirped from her little nest of pillows.

"But do keep them out of reach from the dog," Hosea cautioned her, eyes falling to Copper; the dog was close to drooling in anticipation.

After selecting a cake for today, one that was garnished with vanilla cream and blueberries, Aurora strolled about the campground, gingerly avoiding Mac and Davey, who hollered about stealing her treat when she least expected it. While they were considered barbarous, both in their attitudes and in their field of work, the Callander Boys hardly did any physical harm towards her, or even acted upon their threats. But if she were to choose which brother she preferred, it would be Davey; for whatever reason he had, he treated Aurora in a less harsh manner than Mac, and that was enough.

"Johnny!" Aurora called out to the young man. John looked away from his task, and smiled upon seeing the girl walking up to his tent.

"Hey there, Ree, you feelin' good enough to eat desserts?" John asked, sheathing his sharp bowie away from her sight.

"A little. Papa said I can't have all of them at once, or else I'll get even more sick."

"He ain't wrong about that," he said. Then, as if conceiving an idea, he promptly stood up. "Say, why don't you and I head out? I promise it'll be a quick trip; we'll be back before dusk."

At the prospect of leaving camp for a few hours with John, Aurora felt heat rise to her cheeks before agreeing with him. He placed a hand on her back, and led her to one of the wagons. They were found at the west side of camp; their canvas roofs had been removed to serve other useful purposes. John told her to stay put while he went to fetch two draft horses. Aurora silently ate her little cake as she watched him hitch the animals to their transport. But his actions were soon noticed by the rest of the gang, and it was Arthur who approached.

"Goin' somewhere, John?" asked the larger man.

At eight and twenty years, Arthur had reached his full height and broadness that some would proclaim as an accomplished masculine figure. He used his appearance to intimidate; it spoke in the way he rolled his shoulders, and how he clenched his hands into tight fists. Aurora knew he often got into playfights with the Callanders, showing off his natural strength to anyone who dared notice.

Once, when she was younger, Arthur brought down a man, larger than he, with a single jab to the throat. His opposer collapsed into a heap, choking and gasping, like a fish out of water. She never knew the reason behind the act, and frankly she didn't want to know just yet. Returning to the present, Arthur crossed his arms, waiting for a sensible reply from John.

"There's some farmlands not too far from here. I heard rumors that the owner has been doing a great job at maintaining the place; so great that he hardly has time to feed his wife and children anymore," John explained. "It'll be a quick one; I'll just be stealing a bit of livestock and then sell them off at Finch."

Arthur rubbed his beard at the scheme, before nodding along. "Okay, what's Rory got to do with this?"

"Ah, well, she's the song and dance I need to make this an easy job," he said, "trust me on this one, Arthur."

It took them quite a few minutes before Arthur finally consented. "Alright, but I'm comin' with you to make sure everything goes smoothly as it is."

"Aw, come on!" John exclaimed, but the older man would have none of it.

"Rory, finish your dessert, and grab a coat. We're leavin' as soon as you get back."

The little girl did not need any more goading: she went, in a rush, back to her father's tent and picked a dark blue coat with white laces. Upon returning, Arthur helped her into the outerwear, maneuvering her splinted arm through the sleeve. He likewise mentioned that he brought her medicine with him, not taking any chances of her experiencing discomfort during their ride. Once the wagon was ready, John and Arthur helped her up into the wagon, while the two men sat in front. Without so much as a farewell to the camp, they left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing this, I didn't realize I had written up to 1700+ words by the time I supposedly reached the middle. Hence the cliffhanger.
> 
>  
> 
> Writer Life y'all

**Author's Note:**

> Red Dead Redemption II does not belong to me.
> 
> This author accepts heavy critiques and other various sorts of comments. It is very much appreciated.


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